


Untitled: Prompt from ianthe_echo - Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Cas at Renaissance Fair

by Zanne



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from ianthe_echo: Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Cas at Renaissance Fair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled: Prompt from ianthe_echo - Supernatural, Sam, Dean and Cas at Renaissance Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed since this is a writing exercise to wake up my brain. Any mistakes are mine. It went in an unexpected direction. Kripke owns Supernatural. The BBC owns the surprise guest.

The angel’s expression settled into one resembling confusion as he watched the two women walk by, large pickles nestled between their breasts.  Castiel slid his gaze toward Dean at the sound of the other man’s amused snort, Dean’s eyes still fixed on the women as they wound their way through the crowd.

 “C’mon, man,” Dean said around a mouthful of meat.  “You can’t say you’ve never done that before.”

 Castiel wasn’t quite sure to what Dean was referring, and his eyes rested on Sam for clarification. All Castiel got in return was a dismissive shrug before Sam’s attention returned to the map in his hand. 

 “Man,” Dean murmured appreciatively, “I _love_ pickles.”  He tossed the rest of his turkey leg into a nearby trashcan and grabbed his cup of beer off the counter.  “Let’s get goin’.  We’ve got a magician to find.”

 The three men worked their way through the crowd of the Renaissance Faire, costumed participants scattered amongst them.  Booths lined the paths, selling everything from armor to wreaths of flowers to fairy’s wings for the fair-goers.

 “The vendors are spread throughout the Faire,” Sam said, pocketing the map in his back pocket.  “We’ll just have to check out everything.”

 “Can’t be too hard to find.  How many guys out there are named after a fish?” Dean said, testing the grip of a short-bladed dagger he saw on one of the tables.  

 Sam sighed, rolling his eyes.  “It’s an ‘ _e_ ’, not an ‘ _a_ ’, Dean.”  

“Eh, so what,” Dean said.  After a few test jabs, the vendor eying him warily, Dean set the knife back on the table with his mouth pursed in thought.  “It’s still weird.”  Dean eyed another buxom wench walking by as he added, “You gotta admit, it’s pretty clever – go with your strengths, right?  This guy must make a good living following the Faire circuit.”  Dean cleared the way for a procession of Faire-goers in skull masks, looking slightly annoyed at the spectacle as they danced by, tossing flowers at their audience.  “Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time?  We’re dealing with an Apocalypse here!”

 “This reminds me of Soddom and Gommorrah,” Castiel said, cocking his head as he watched a couple of costumed men spout dirty limericks from a nearby stage, a bevy of bosomed wenches cheering them on.  “But with more iambic pentameter.”  

“Did Bobby mention why we needed this guy so badly?” Sam asked, squinting down one of the aisles as if hoping for a convenient sign.  When he didn’t see one, he turned that squint toward his brother, making Dean snort indelicately into his beer.

 Once Dean got the foam out of his nose, he explained, “Bobby said the guy owed him a favor and we should cash it in for Team Free Will.  He seemed to think if anyone could help us, this guy could.”  He cast an eye at the cup in Sam’s hand.  “Now drink your mead and keep looking.” 

 “I think I have found him,” Castiel said, gesturing across a small field to a small tent positioned nearby.  

 The patch of grass offered a small, open spot in the midst of the crowd, some families having spread out blankets to take a break under the trees in the heat of the day.  Across the scraggly patch of green, more vendors’ booths were set up; Dean glanced at the name on the arch over the tent and gave Castiel an appreciative grin.  “Good eye, Cas!”  

The man running the booth had dark hair, nearly black from what could be seen in the shadow of the tent’s overhang.  His large ears stuck out on either side of his head like jug handles as he wrote something on the small chalkboard hanging outside the tent’s opening.  When he turned to go back inside, he stumbled over a small rug, only catching his balance at the last minute and tripping through the door into the tent.

“ _That’s_ fish guy?” Dean asked in disbelief.  “Our ace in the hole?”  

 “It’s an ‘ _e_ ’, Dean,” Sam reminded him with a huff.  

 Dean shrugged.  “If you say so.”  He led Castiel and Sam across the grass and into the tent’s interior, the fabric walls lined with shelves full of small bottles of herbs and oils.

 The man was busy straightening one of the shelves when they entered, calling out over his shoulder, “Welcome to my apothecary!  My name’s Merl-”  As he turned to greet them, his blue eyes widened in surprise, and a small bottle of oil dropped from his hand, filling the tent’s interior with the strong scent of lilies.

 “Marlin, yeah,” Dean said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.  “It was on the sign outside.”  Dean’s fidgeted under the man’s intense scrutiny and continued with jabs in Castiel and Sam’s direction, “This is Gary and Rickey, and my name’s-”

 “Arthur,” the man whispered, a smile broadening over his face as he stepped closer, wrapping Dean in an enthusiastic hug.  “I’ve been waiting so long.”


End file.
